


The Oathkeeper and his Evenstar

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Across seasons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: This is a set of drabbles/ficlets too short to fit into my one-shot series. Mostly comprising of one-two scenes, each chapter will be a fluffy JB confession of some sort (verbal or indirect) across seasons 3 to 8, all of them pointing to a happy ending.Chapter 21 : Rumours : Cersei confronts Brienne and Jaime soon after they return to King's Landing
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 175
Kudos: 351





	1. Not yet goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like this piece and the other chapters that follow. Thank you for reading!

“Don’t you worry about your friend,” Locke said with a sneer. “We’ll take _good_ care of her.”

Jaime rode past the taunt, helpless and speechless, his eyes to the ground, his conscience hurting like hell. A _friend,_ that was what they’d assumed her to be, not an adversary, not someone he’d sworn to kill barely days ago. And here he was, sneaking off to safety, giving her no more than his word as a parting gift, leaving her with a pack of dogs, to be raped, and when they’d had their fill of her, flayed like the others the Boltons chose to dispose of.

Thoughts of her filled his mind as they approached the gates, her bright blue eyes flashing before him every time he blinked. Sad, yet determined, they had been, liquid with tears of disappointment and rage, shedding not a drop, though, nor bearing any ill-will for the man she had, all along, loathed. A promise was all she’d asked for, nothing more, nothing for herself, not a word of complaint nor a plea for help slipping past her lips when she had bid him goodbye.

Her eyes would, forever, haunt him, as would her last words, the only living soul to have truly seen him for the man he was, gone within the next day or two because he chose to walk away from her. The light would go out of her blue eyes, her body, battered and butchered and tied to some post, roasting in the sun for the ravens to feast on - only because he chose to save himself.

A friend, he was supposed to be, but what kind of a friend was he? A friend, she had grown to be, though barely on talking terms they’d been, but was that all she was? A friend, or perhaps, much more than that, she had touched his heart, touched him in ways no one ever had, sought the depths of his soul and torn away the mask he’d worn.

Her eyes, once again, shone in his mind, as did her soft voice uttering his title and his name, an honour he’d craved more than his life. Others, he cared a damn about, but her opinion mattered.

So did her life. So did she.

At that moment, he knew what she was to him. His heart gently whispered it to him.

+++++

The guards unlocked the door and he rushed inside, dying to catch a glimpse of her, aching to die in her pretty eyes. She’d be safe, he was sure of that, his second attempt at negotiation and the temptation of the ransom he’d promised for her return, having the effect he’d intended on Roose Bolton. 

“Ser Jaime!” Brienne exclaimed, scrambling to her feet, her large, surprised eyes throwing a million questions at him. 

He took in her shabby look. Her tattered gown was still ragged and hideous, and the number of scratches on her face, no more than what he had counted. No better than the last he’d seen of her, she was, but no worse either, by the grace of the Seven. Lord Bolton had kept his side of the bargain. He had kept Locke and his arseholes away from her. 

“Lady Brienne,” he returned her courtesy with a bow worthy of a lady. 

She looked at him, eyes with disbelief, wondering if he was really there. “You were well away--”

“I came back,” he finished for her, approaching the bed she was standing against, cutting away whatever remained of the gap between them. 

“Why?” she asked, her eyes demanding more than just the answer to this simple question.

He touched her cheek. Two scratches, he’d counted before he left, and two, there still were. “Must you really ask me that question, my lady?” he said, gently stroking the one that was still raw.

She didn’t wince at his touch nor did recoil. She blushed like a maiden, her lashes fluttering furiously everytime his fingers moved. “How would I know if you don’t tell me?” she asked, drawing closer, so close now that he could breathe her breath.

Words, he didn’t have, at least none fitting enough to tell her how he felt. He kissed her, instead, his touch, gentle and sweet, tender and delicate, just like a maiden ought to be treated. Her soft gasp left his blood pounding, her slowly parting lips had his pulse racing, her eyes shining with raw passion and naked desire when she kissed him back, drove away everything, but her, from his head.

He wrapped his stump around her waist and pulled her into his arms, kissing her like the world would come to an end tomorrow - their guards be damned, the seven kingdoms be damned, everything else be damned.

A pretend-cough, one of the guards clearing his throat at the door, broke them apart. “Have I suitably addressed your concern, my lady?” Jaime asked, reluctantly releasing her.

The answer was a radiant smile, her blush, more beautiful than the setting sun.

+++++

They left the confinement chambers together, exchanging shy smiles and stealing covert glances at one another. His fingers brushing against hers, he hoped to freely hold her hand one day. His dream was to be hers, and his oath, to stand by her and keep her safe.

Captor and captive, they still were, only this time, it was his heart in her custody.


	2. Words of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Brienne is in the Vale in search of Sansa, she receives a mysterious letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this scene, I've assumed Brienne reaches the Vale and meets Sansa before Tyrion's trial by combat, and Jaime, after bargaining with Tywin for his brother's life, writes to Brienne.

“M’lady, the innkeep asked me to give this to you.” Podrick handed her a shabbily sealed piece of parchment. A cursory glance told Brienne that it bore no sigil nor a name to reveal the identity of the sender. “It arrived this morning.” 

She frowned at the letter, confusion and apprehension, the first emotions to hit her. Was this a threat to her quest? Who could possibly have known her whereabouts? Once she'd breathed enough to think straight, she ruled out the first and most important person who was after Sansa's head. Cersei wouldn’t show her the courtesy of a letter; she’d rather send out assassins to close the matter once and for all. 

Who, apart from Sansa’s key adversary could it be? Who--

Only one other name came to her mind, this one bringing a faint smile to her lips, the only one to leave her heart fluttering like a love-struck maiden’s. Blood rushed to her face, flushing her with inner warmth, and she gazed at the note with fondness, picturing his handsome face. Every feature, right from his bright green eyes to his golden mane, his square jaw to the smile that weakened her - all of it, she vividly recalled, clearly with even the minutest detail locked in her mind, as if she’d seen him not days back, but yesterday.

_It can’t be. Why would he? What business has he with me?_

Her fingers tightening around the letter, she could feel the sweat from her palm leach into the parchment as her other hand involuntarily reached down to caress Oathkeeper’s hilt. With a deep sigh, she unfolded it, holding back her doubts and questions until she’d unmasked her mystery correspondent.

She held her breath when she skimmed through the writing. Misshapen, the letters were, like a child’s, and distinctly recognizable as the one she’d seen in the White Book on his page.

_My lady--_

She closed her eyes for a moment, reliving her days with him, his voice, his soft murmur whenever he called her a lady, returning to haunt her from the realm of her memories. Knowing better than to gauge his intentions without reading till the end, she went on. 

_Hope this finds you in good health and with a fair bit of success in your quest. As I sit down to write this, I’m wondering how to put this to you. I may be a man of many words, of thousand insults, even (my sincerest apologies for giving you hell in the past), but I do not know how else to break this to you, except by jumping straight to the point and beginning with a confession that it is not Cersei who is the love of my life anymore--_

Stunned, Brienne had to stop again, the words after that, blurring away into incoherence. Her heart jumped, throwing her off her emotional balance. A hundred interpretations of this, there could be, and many inferences. 

Collecting her composure and whatever little patience was left in her, she pushed herself to go on.

_I do love my sister, Brienne, and I always will, though not as my soulmate anymore, for that place in my heart is now occupied by another. I have left the Kingsguard, as my lord father has always wanted me to, and decided to take on the future I was destined for, the lord and heir to Casterly Rock._

Hopes and dreams had always lived in her eyes, but never did she expect the gods to oblige her with them. Could this be the day when dreams chose to merge with real life?

_My lord father says I must marry a suitable woman of noble birth and sire his heirs. Maidens, far and wide, he insists, I must meet and court, but none of them interest me, Brienne, for I have my heart set on who it should be. Only one, I seek, and her fair hand in mine, her astonishing eyes, the first sight I want to wake up to every morning and the last thing I wish to see every night.  
_

_The rest lies on you. My future - our future is in your hands, Lady Brienne, so what is it that you desire?_

Tears filled her eyes, brimming over to trickle down her cheeks. When had anyone ever bothered to ask her that?

_You were the only one to see me for the man I was, so would you accept my heart and give me yours in return? Would you accept my proposal and be my wife? I may be exaggerating if I say I’d give you the world, but truth, it is, and nothing but the truth when I tell you that I am yours._

_I am yours._ She read it again. _I am yours._ Her eyes refused to move past that line until she’d properly registered it, until it sank in. 

_Will you be mine, wench? If your answer is yes, I will come for you at once, to help you fulfill one vow, to make another with you, to seal our bond with the sacred words and a kiss._

_Say yes, my lady, and shower this crippled knight with your love and a blessed future. If you think otherwise--_

_Yes, yes, yes,_ she cried out aloud, half-laughing and half-crying. _A thousand times yes!_

There was no room in her heart for _otherwise._ She didn’t want to read the rest. She didn’t have to. She directly skipped to the end, hoping to glimpse his name.

_Yours, for now and forever,_

_Your Oathkeeper._

Overwhelmed, she gripped the lion on her sword tighter.

“M’lady.”

She turned around, and there stood Pod with a gentle smile on his lips.

“Should I get you some parchment and quill?” he offered, taking in her face and the note in her hand.

“Yes, Podrick, that would be nice,” she replied, her voice shaking. “Thank you.”

As soon as her squire left, she re-read the words of love again, her heart swelling, her happiness out of bounds as she mentally composed her reply.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, let me know what you think :)


	3. In search of his lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is on the way back to the North after bidding Jaime a tearful goodbye at the Riverrun siege. Bad weather forces her to take refuge in an inn. Little does she know that this isn't the end of the line for her and Jaime...

“Thank you, Pod, I can manage the rest.” 

Once the last of her armour had come off, the lad retreated, leaving the room. Brienne rubbed her damp hands together. Such a respite this warm shelter was, from the torrential rain that simply refused to relent, that seemed bent on hindering her journey, forcing them into an unplanned detour to seek refuge in the nearest inn available.

Somehow, this felt like a message to her - as if the gods themselves, wished for this delay. 

Her mind still at Riverrun, her heart still with Jaime, she began peeling away the rest of her drenched clothes, staring at the fire, seeking his face in the flames. His parting wave lingered in her mind, as did the looming possibility of facing him in battle. First, Renly died in her arms, and now the day didn’t seem too far when-- she sniffed and glanced away from the flames, attacking her clothes with added vigour, refusing to consider the heartbreaking outcome should such a situation arise. 

Honour and oaths, vows and allegiance to her liege lady; her choices, they were, but why wasn’t she as contented as she ought to have been? Why was her heart heavy and her mind constantly disturbed? 

Why did the lion have to be the enemy of the wolf? 

And why, of all the men in the seven kingdoms, did she have to fall for the one she could never have? Why did she have to fall in love at all?

Answers to these lay nowhere else, but within herself, and solutions to her problems were non-existent. 

Down to her shirt and breeches, she was about to strip away the rest of her clothes, when a knock on the door paired with a loud clap of thunder left her with discomfort in her ears and her head buzzing. 

“ _Yo_ _u!_ ” 

Surprise and disbelief, elation and confusion, all at once, it was, when she unlocked the door assuming it to be Pod. When _he_ stood at her threshold, dressed in a commoner’s garb, stripped of all his regal splendour, she didn’t know what to think, how to respond.

In a soft voice that was so tender, yet achingly alluring, he asked, “Can I come in?” green eyes reading hers like a book.

She felt cold all of a sudden; whether due to her wet clothes or something else, she wasn’t sure.

She may have even started shivering, but his eyes refused to release her from their hold. “If my presence is unwelcome, Lady Brienne--”

“That's not what I meant, Ser Jaime.”

With the door safely locked behind them, they moved towards the fire, and when adequate warmth had got into her body to soothe her limbs, she said, “You braved the storm to ride all the way here.”

He said nothing, only hummed in response.

She took another look at his disheveled state, then pulled out a spare towel from her saddlebag and threw it at him. “Wipe your hair. You’ll catch a co--”

Tossing away the towel, he moved closer. “Brienne--”

“You could’ve been hit by lightning,” she scolded, anger, agitation, frustration consuming her, tormenting her with what could’ve gone wrong, how the bad weather could’ve caused the end of him. “You could’ve died, you--”

“Yes,” he agreed, exhaling deeply, “I could’ve died. But I _would’ve_ died for you, wench. Gladly.”

She waited for him to go on, to elaborate.

“I left Harrenhal once without you - first mistake. I let you leave King’s Landing without me - second mistake.” He touched her arm, burning his way through the fabric clinging to her skin. “How could I let you leave for the third time?” The tenderness in his eyes was killing her, weakening her defenses. “Tearful goodbyes are all we end up with, my lady, but not this time.”

With a fluttering sensation in the pit of her belly, she attacked his head with the towel. “Let’s get you dry first and out of these dripping clothes. Then we’ll talk.”

His eyes slid down her front, absorbing every inch of her clumsy wet body. 

Longing. Desire. Lust. Love. 

Everything she could think of, she saw in his gaze. His hand went up her neck, and she trembled, wanting everything, yet apprehensive, unsure.

“You’re wet too,” he said huskily. He had cornered her to the wall, blocking her way, looking deeply into her eyes. 

She suddenly had trouble talking… thinking… breathing. 

“Why don’t we help each other with our clothes, hmm?” he suggested, then leaned to kiss her. What began as a tender touch soon spiraled out of control when he began kissing her harder, deeper, with a desperately urgent need that was both exhilarating and overpowering. His hand was all over her, up her back, over her arm… everywhere, and the room started spinning around her, throwing her off balance. His wet shirt clung to hers when he pressed closer, and despite the chill in the air, she could feel the sparks from his drenched body, igniting her, consuming her. 

“Jaime,” she whispered against his mouth, her hands clumsily working away his shirt.

Did his breeches come off first? Or was it her shirt? Or did they manage to get rid of both simultaneously? 

Everything after the kiss was a daze and--a dream, perhaps?

The clothes soon came off, thank the gods, and they fell onto the bed together. He pressed her down and she wrapped herself around him, leaning back, letting him take the lead, yielding to him this time before the sparring could even begin. 

He teased her entrance and she clawed down his back, groping for him, holding him tight. “Jaime--” She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to ask for. She didn't know what to expect.

“Yes, my lady?” he gasped, and before she could speak, he was kissing her again.

His hand, his lips, his tongue... beyond his control, beyond her comprehension, beyond anything she'd ever imagined.

Gentle, he was, when he made his presence felt, not intimidating, not overbearing.

He went in a little… then a little further, and she felt her nipples harden, her walls gripping him, holding on to him.

“Brienne,” Jaime whispered, thrusting into her. “Just stay with me.”

He was slow, rhythmic, easing her with tender kisses, moving down her hips, a sharp brief pain pricking her when he broke past her barrier. Only for a moment, it lasted, and when he went down for the second time, a shiver ran through her, and then a shudder, and then a spasm rocked her, knocking her out of this world.

Panting, grunting, gasping, he went on and on, again... and again... and again... until she felt nothing but _him_.

The world around her faded away, dissolving into stars… and then, there was bliss. And peace. And contentment.

+++++

“I’m never going to leave you, Brienne.” 

She looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest, her fingers tracing the patch of hair that ran down his midriff. “Do you even know what this means? You’ll be a traitor to the crown if you come with me.”

He kissed her lips. “If I don’t, I’d be a traitor to my heart.”


	4. A chance meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night before the dragon pit meeting, Jaime and Brienne run into each other.

“Why the hell have we come here?”

Bronn had led him to the place they had used for his training once, citing no reason for this secret trip except a cryptic, _Someone has asked to meet you._ “You’ll see,” he quipped, answering the rest of the question with an enigmatic smirk as they descended the stairs.

His refusal to reveal the details irked Jaime, reminding him of the time he’d been led down the tunnels to meet Tyrion. “Is it my brother again?” he began, annoyed at having been tricked the last time, “Because if it is--”

“Oh, it’s not him this time.” Bronn’s grin widened. “But I’m sure you won’t regret it,” he added, piquing Jaime's curiosity even more.

Jaime paced from one corner to the other, his impatience growing as the minutes passed. “Now where the fuck is this person--”

“She’ll be here soon.”

_She?_

Jaime’s heart was at his throat. His brain brought up possibilities he dared not conclude on. His mind wandered, travelling to Riverrun, taking him back to the last time he-- 

He sighed. 

There was only one _she_ who could send him down such a journey through his memories, and there was no way he could dream of engaging in another friendly exchange with her. The eventuality, the ominous possibility of meeting her in a battle was eating away his mind, gnawing through every second of his life. Since he’d returned, he had not been with Cersei, _her_ large blue eyes haunting him, her parting wave cutting through his heart like shards of glass. There had always been more to what he thought he shared with her, the full extent of it hitting him only when she’d walked out of his tent that fateful day.

“Ah, there she is,” chirped Bronn, grinning over Jaime’s shoulders. 

Jaime’s heart stopped for a second when he leaned catch a glimpse of their visitor. 

_Yes, there she is!_

Blue eyes, lost and innocent, scanned the place until they found his. She halted at the base of the stairs, surprised as he was, stunned and completely non-responsive. But for those sparkling sapphires which were an ocean of emotions, both storm and calm at the same time. 

“For fuck's sake, stop staring and tell her how you feel about her before it's too late,” Bronn hissed, bringing his attention back to his presence. 

“Wait, what--” Jaime started to ask, but Bronn, with no interest in entertaining him, merely threw him a suggestive wink before bouncing towards the stairs, pausing for barely a few seconds when he crossed paths with Brienne to acknowledge her with a hasty greeting of sorts.

Soon he was gone, leaving Jaime alone with her and a million things he wanted to say to her.

_Is she going to keep standing there forever?_

She didn’t flee, she didn’t look away. Slow steps, she took to approach him, but she did get there, and when she stood before him, Jaime couldn’t trust himself to say a word, terrified that his bottled-up anguish might come tumbling out, raw and blatant.

“My lady,” he murmured, hesitant to speak further yet unable to keep it to himself.

“Ser Jaime,” she greeted him back, her sweet voice the same as usual, the melodic tinge to it never failing to amaze him.

 _What brings you to King’s Landing,_ he was about to ask, then held back, the question thoroughly futile. It was obvious she was here on behalf of Sansa to participate in the meeting for a truce tomorrow. “Why are you here?” he asked, instead.

“Pod told me you wanted to meet me here.” Confused, she scanned his face for an explanation.

“And Bronn told me you wanted to meet me,” he revealed, equally confounded. 

Brienne frowned. “But why?”

He shook his head, only now realizing they’d both been tricked into this meeting. “Oh these two,” he said, breaking into a smile when he pictured Bronn's smug face, “they wanted to get us together because they thought--” He stopped smiling, his nervousness returning to impede the flow of his words.

She didn’t seem to take too well to this prank, tensing when she asked, “What?”

_They thought there’s more to us than a deep friendship._

He recalled Cersei accusing him of leaving a part of himself behind at Riverrun, suggesting that he had fallen in love with the _ugly cow_. 

_Cersei._

The thought of his sister and the endless confrontations he’d had with her concerning Brienne filled him with dread. “You shouldn’t have come,” he lamented, praying for her well-being. “The longer you stay here, wench, the more in danger you are.” 

“I don’t understand--”

“Cersei,” he said, unable to hold back the burden of his fears anymore. “Lately, she’s begun to suspect that you and me--” he wasn’t sure how to voice it, how to tell her that it wasn’t merely an assumption on her part. “Cersei thinks I’ve fallen out of love with her and--” he took in a deep breath to help him continue. “She feels someone else has replaced her,” he said, on an afterthought, mentally beating himself up for sounding like an expression of his sister’s opinion instead of the confession he wanted to lay before her. “ _You_.”

Wide-eyed, she stared at him, then with a distant look, she said, “Your sister expressed this doubt long back.”

This, Jaime was not aware of, and he waited with bated breath, his intrigue to know more, killing him.

“She confronted me at the king’s wedding,” she went on, her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. 

Unless he was thoroughly mistaken, Jaime had every reason to be optimistic, her eyes, her shy demeanour, everything about her telling him that the fire burned brightly on her side too. “And?” he prompted, guarded, keen not to fumble with unsuitable words this time.

Her voice dropped to a shy whisper. “She accused me of being in love with you.”

“And what did you say to that?” he found himself whispering back, the sound of his heartbeat severely distracting.

“Nothing.” She suddenly looked anguished, restless. “I must leave, Ser Jaime, us meeting like this is inappropriate--”

Jaime caught her arm before she could flee. ”Was Cersei right?” he asked, capturing her in a gaze she couldn’t escape from.

“I must leave,” she said again, though making no effort to shake off his grasp.

“She made the same vehement claim about me as soon as I returned from Riverrun,” he recalled, ignoring her deflection. “That I’d left a part of me behind.”

“An incorrect observation obviously,” Brienne dismissed, trying to sound nonchalant, but when he inched closer, he noticed her chin quivering.

He tilted his chin towards hers. His lips parted, his mouth hovering over hers, aching to devour her. He wanted to tell her, to show her. “You really think so?”

“I--” she stammered, her eyes on his mouth, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “Yes.”

His hand on her neck, he touched her lips with his, just a brush, just a tease, a dewdrop on a rose petal, a snowflake gently caressing the skin. A kiss chaster than any he’d shared with Cersei, it was, yet far more seductive than any other. He pulled back before he could lose control, before the urge to do more than just kiss her overpowered him.

He caressed her lip with his thumb. “Still doubtful about Cersei’s _assumption_?”

With a tender look she placed her hand on his. “We’re still on opposite sides,” she reminded him, smiling sadly. “Tomorrow--”

“--I might have to be indifferent to you.” he explained, knowing that was the only way to keep her safe from Cersei for the time being. “Hostile, even,” he added, “but bear in mind, wench, that soon after this is over, I’ll come for you, to seek your hand, your company and companionship for the rest of our lives. Casterly Rock isn’t mine anymore to offer you, but I’d give you myself and my undying love.”

She brightened and so did her smile. “What makes you think I’ll say yes?”

“Oh you already have!” he said, returning her playful smile. “Your eyes have agreed, Lady Brienne.”

Reddening, she broke away from his grasp. “Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

She was about to turn away, but before that, he pulled her to his chest, his lips on hers again, this time, a hard desperation, an unbearable need to his touch. Chastity be damned, he wanted her! He wanted her to seep into every pore in his skin, her scent to mingle with his breath. He wanted the sensation of her in every vein that ran beneath his skin. 

His hand running down her back, he held her close. His body pressing into hers, he wanted to feel her soft curves, the warmth of her beneath the barrier of his clothes.

He kissed her harder, and this time she did something unlike earlier.

She kissed him back. 

  
  
  
  



	5. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle against the dead, Brienne lies in her room, injured. Jaime goes in to see her.

“The cut’s quite deep, but she’ll heal,” Podrick informed him, sombre, yet relieved.

“Thank you, Pod.” After what seemed to be an eternity of restlessness, Jaime’s mind was finally at ease. “Go and enjoy the feast. I’ll stay with her.”

“But, Ser, your dinner?” asked the lad, his earnest eyes full of concern.

Jaime didn’t want to leave her side tonight. Hells, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone for even a second! “I wonder if you could get us something up here?”

Pod nodded at the suggestion, then took leave of him with an encouraging smile. “I’m sure she’ll cheer up on seeing you.”

 _I hope so too,_ he thought, as he entered the chamber, his mind full of unfinished sentences, of thoughts he’d had difficulty expressing, of feelings that were now impossible to suppress. The living had prevailed. But what if they hadn’t? What if either of them had perished without him getting a chance to tell her?

_What if--_

Shaking off the negativity, he tried to dwell on the brighter side of life. He still had her. Never again, would he let go of her. Not for a single moment, he would leave her side.

“Wench,” he called out softly, approaching her. She lay on the bed, covered waist down by a sheet.

Hearing his voice, she struggled to a sitting position. “Ser Jaime,” she returned the greeting, and a bolt of sadness struck him at the way she held on to the formal address. After all they’d been through and survived, he’d expected her to, at least now, see the man in him and not the knight.

Putting away the disappointment, he sat down by her side, his heart going out to the broken woman on the bed. “Can I--” he murmured, glancing at her covered legs. He wanted to do everything possible to make her feel better.

Anything to ensure her happiness.

She didn't deny him, but didn’t consent either. Just as he was about to mumble a distressed apology and get up, she nodded bashfully, her pretty eyes on her lap, shining brilliantly in the light of the candle. Lifting the bed sheet to her knees, he examined the cut on her left leg. “You took this for me,” he admonished her, gently touching the blood stained bandages when he remembered how she had cut through three or four wights that had surrounded him, grabbing him from the jaws of certain death. “Why?” When she didn’t reply, he let his fingers stray out of the boundary of her dressing, trespassing onto the rest of her pale skin. “Why did you risk your life for me, my lady?”

He could feel her twitch beneath his roving hand. “My lady,” he began, about to withdraw, worried that he’d upset her, but she reached for his good arm, her unexpected touch surprising him, silencing him. 

“And you took _this_ for me,” she whispered, her thumb breaching the tear on his sleeve. “Why?” she demanded, feeling the nasty burn above his elbow. She brought her eyes to his, the heat of her gaze warming him from within, taking away all his pain and burdens, taking him to the world of the dreams he had, so far, dared not delve deeper into. “You jumped in the path of the dead to protect me. You nearly lost another hand for me, Ser Jaime.” Her fingers slid down his forearm and came to rest on the bed. “That was suicidal,” she scolded, a tremor in her voice, “just like Harrenhal. So why?”

He didn’t answer her, but did something he ought to have done the day he’d come here. 

He took her hand in his. 

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t even flinch. They sat like that for a few peaceful minutes, his hand on hers, his eyes lost in hers, his heart reaching out to hers. The feast be damned, he wanted to spend every minute with her.

“Why aren’t you downstairs?” she asked, as if reading his mind.

“I came here to see you.” He got up and went to the other side of the bed. “To make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of,” he said, settling down in the vacant half beside her.

Her lips trembling, she graced him with a rare smile, a radiance, pleasing and delicate, spreading across her face. “I am comfortable and on the road to recovery. You need not have bothered. Podrick made sure I was well attended to.”

Jaime couldn’t help feeling a little envious of the affection she had for the boy. “Would you rather have him for company than me?” he couldn’t help asking, although he fully understood that she looked upon him as the brother she’d lost as a girl.

“That’s not what I meant,” she hastily justified, a pretty blush traveling up her neck. 

She looked so soft and warm, so delicate and vulnerable, every bit a woman like any other. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to keep her safe and protect her, making a silent vow to himself to cut down anyone who dared touch even a single hair on her head. 

He wanted to tell her that he--

Shifting closer, he draped his arm around her shoulders. And this time too, she didn’t resist. On the contrary, she relaxed, melting into his touch, letting her head seek the support of his chest. Burying his face in her hair, he let the sensation of her soak in, her smell, her proximity, the comforting heat of her body, her essence...

“It’s not a bother, Brienne,” he corrected her assumption, subtly giving her a glimpse of what was in his heart. “With you, it’s _never_ a bother.” Courage and his nerves often seemed to fail him whenever she was in the vicinity, but tonight he couldn’t leave his heart to their mercy. “I came to Winterfell because--”

She looked up, the sudden jerk of her head throwing him off-guard. “I know,” she whispered, her eyes and the gentle smile on her lips vouching for her words.

He could see it on her face, plain as daylight, that she knew it all, his gratitude and appreciation for the way she’d stood up for him at the trial, his sincerity when he’d pledged his service to her, his pain when she’d fallen, injured and blood-covered, his admiration, his aching desperate yearning… his _love_ for her. 

“Will you stay with me for a while, Jaime?” she requested, her voice tender and breathless.

Everything around him, in his head, came to a standstill, her words, his name, the only thought. He felt his chest constrict. He couldn’t breathe for a second. Unless he knew he’d heard her right, he couldn’t be at peace. “What did you just call me, Brienne?”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she repeated for his benefit, “will you stay by my side tonight?”

“Not just for a while,” he said, making his intention loud and clear. Drowning in her eyes, he bent to breathe in her breath. “Not just tonight, but _forever_.” Then he did something he should’ve done long back at Riverrun. 

He kissed her.


	6. For love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their first night together, Brienne wakes up to a side of Jaime she has never met before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the love scene in 8x4

“You’re staring!”

Jaime didn’t reply, but continued to take in her body, his eyes feasting on every part of her - her face, her neck, her naked breasts, the hunger in his fiery gaze setting off a pleasant ache at the pit of her belly.

“What?” Brienne asked, goosebumps erupting on every part of her exposed skin when he refused to look away.

He pulled her into his arms. His eyes piercing hers, he said, “You’re beautiful, Brienne,” every word dripping with longing and deep admiration.

“Shut up.” She dismissed him with an incredulous click of her tongue, unable to digest the unexpected compliment.

“I mean it,” he insisted, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re much prettier in this light - a beauty, a knight--”

“Enough,” she stopped him, playfully tugging at his chest hair. “You’re terrible at flattery.”

“It isn’t flattery.” His eyes screamed honesty when his mouth took hers. “But the truth from the bottom of my heart.” And before she could blink again, she found herself on her back with his now-familiar weight on her, a comforting, yet agonizing warmth spreading within her, making her want him all over again. “Must I prove it again, my lady?” he asked, his voice husky and needy, his erection pressing into her. “Must I show you how much I want you?”

She had to smile, to give in to his smoothness. “You’re quite efficient at this,” she praised, biting her lip subconsciously when she recalled everything he had done to her last night. “Your prowess in bed--”

“--is much better than my skills with a _real_ sword,” he opined on her behalf, his eyes twinkling. 

“Really?” she teased, trying not to blush in agreement.

“I’ve been a bit rusty in battle.” He pinned her to the bed. “And I could do with some practice with my _swordplay_ here as well, wench.” He began kissing her, his need fierce, his thirst, desperate. He broke away to breathe, and when he’d taken his fill of enough air, he went on, “I-- _we_ could do this every single day,” his eyes dreamy. “Fucking and fighting… fighting and fucking...” he trailed off with a heavy sigh and another conquest of her mouth.

“But you hate the North,” she reminded him, panting heavily when he set off on a stream of kisses down her throat. “The people here hate you--”

“I don’t care,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I didn’t come here for them, nor do my loyalties lie with Daenerys Targaryen or Jon Snow.” He settled into the same rhythmic breathing pattern as hers, the rise and fall of his chest, one with her breasts. “I care for no one but you, Brienne, and you’re the reason I’m here.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” was all she could say, elated, yet overwhelmed with his affection. He lay in her arms, and she soaked in his heat, his body warmer than the best furs the castle could provide her. He was right. She could do this all day. She could get used to waking up with him. She could get used to his presence in her life, every single minute of it.

When he looked up at her, however, his eyes sang a different tune, his mood a complete contrast to what it had been all along. “What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised to find his face eclipsed by a veil of sadness and doubt.

He dropped his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. “I fear my tarnished name might taint you as well, my lady--”

She drove away the rest of his words with a kiss. “Don’t you bring such thoughts into your head ever again,” she threatened, “unless you want a good kick in your balls. I’m stronger than you, I can knock you down--”

“This is no joke, Brienne!” Agitation, guilt, shame, all of it and something more, she could see in his eyes when he said, “The Kingslayer’s whore, they call you. I heard them whisper behind my back when I chased you back here last night--”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, firm and determined. “I care not for such foul rumours.”

The mischievous smile was back, as was the shine in his eyes along with unmistakable relief. “That good I was, last night, huh?” he drawled, every bit of him oozing charm. “I still have it in me, still able to charm maidens into my arms--”

“Oh, shut up,” she mock-scolded, returning his smile. “Every time I think you’ve changed, you’re back to the arrogant knight I first met--”

“Marry me,” he cut her short, his smile fading into an earnest seriousness when he ran a finger along her nose. “Today. Right now.”

Taken aback for a moment, she narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Be my wife,” he said again, his cock nudging its way into her entrance, his fingers caressing the scar on her lip. “I want the bloody Northerners, Sansa, your Queen and everyone else to know what you truly are to me,” he said fiercely, thrusting into her. “Not some fucking whore.”

He eased his passage into her, his lips on her skin, his length filling her, fitting her like he was made for her, their union telling her what they were truly meant to be. She wrapped her legs around him. “You’re doing this for my honour?” she asked, her words interspersed with sighs and moans when he began pounding into her.

Looking into her eyes, he replied, “For love.” 

They began moving, their lips, their bodies, their souls tightly bound in a bond that had taken ages to forge since its inception in a filthy prison years ago, their bitter beginning coming to a fruitful end, their difficult journey nearing its sweet and satisfying destination.

“Yes,” she gasped, her screams getting louder when they approached the stars, when he robbed her mind of everything but him. “ _Yes!_ ”

What other answer could she give him?


	7. Just fucking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne steps out of a bathtub the morning after their first time, thinking about him and everything they shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the love scene in 8x4

_Is_ _fucking_ _always an act of love?_

Stepping out of the tub, Brienne glanced down at herself. Disproportionate, sorely lacking the curves that defined a woman, freckled and covered with scars - how was it even possible that a man like Jaime desired a creature like her? Maybe it was a dream, so realistic, that she couldn’t quite fathom if she was asleep or awake.

Whatever last night was, she would cherish it forever, live in the present. For as long as it lasted, for the next few moments or for the next ten years, it was hers. 

_He_ was hers, at least for one night, if not for life.

She took slow tentative steps towards the stone platform that housed her towel and other bathing essentials, reminiscing about last night, reliving every tiny second she had spent with him, his body, her shelter, his breath, the air she breathed. The bath was supposed to calm her down after the wild night she had been through. But far from soothing, the effect was, the scented steam filling her head with thoughts of him, of every little touch and every fiery kiss they’d shared.

Love, was it, for him too?

Maybe. Maybe not. 

Too inebriated for words, they’d let their bodies do the talking last night - his drunkenly dreamy eyes gazing upon her like she was the most beautiful creation of the Seven, his calloused fingers exploring every scar and every freckle, the sound of his breathing as he rasped into her, of their joining bodies, of their colliding tensions, of their explosive climax. He’d said her name more than once, screaming it out when he came crashing on her, but that was the only thing he had uttered all night, no more than that, no mention of his affection or the word _love._

So what really had it been? Since she’d awoken, she had been dying to know what was in his mind, his heart--

Strong arms seized her from behind, halting her thoughts, intruding her progress, the pressure of his firm chest against her back setting her heart racing, throwing her into a state of both comforting calm and excitement, familiarity and anxious anticipation. He smelled of arousal, his beard tickling the small of her back when his mouth settled on her wet skin. Rock-hard, he was, when he brushed against her, his breath, a blanket around her as he covered her with hot kisses, every part of his body speaking to her, telling her more than words ever could.

His hand crept up her ribs, one agonizing finger at a time, each sparking a slow burn wherever he met her skin. Light, sweet touches, though they were, they were no less than darts of fire, and sweat began to gather all over her wherever he went, mingling with the water droplets, her groin aching, tightening, calling out to him to end this agony. She shivered and strained into him when he reached for her breast, but he held her tight, supporting her, showering her neck with open-mouthed kisses when she fell back into his chest, resting against him. 

He stayed still, holding her close, and she basked in his warmth. He said nothing, his slow heavy gasps spreading over her, whispering sweet wordless words of want and yearning in her ear.

When she recovered enough to straighten herself, he took to tormenting her again, his stump descending down her front, her chest, stomach, her under-belly… disappearing between her legs, out to torture her, keen to pleasure her. She threw back her head and sank into him when he circled her patch, stroking her and rubbing against her, and this time, again, he held her in place. He was her pillar, her knight in shining armour, her wall. Someone she could trust and bank upon to stand by her through the thick and thin of her life. 

All her life.

Maybe, just maybe, fucking was, indeed, more love than lust.

She spun around in his arms, to ask him, to tell him--

He answered her questioning eyes by pressing his mouth to hers, kissing her, softly, sweetly, tugging at her lips with his. She wanted to say his name, she wanted to hear him scream hers. She wanted him to--

His mouth still on hers, he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the platform, roughly elbowing its occupants out of his way to make room for them. Setting her on the edge, he touched her with a blazing gaze, his eyes laden with dark intent when he stepped between her knees, pushing them open. 

_Is this fucking or is it more--_

She had no chance to dwell on her doubts when he shook her with a sudden jerk, penetrating her in one swift move, and she gasped, gripping the edge, her body stretching to accommodate him, the feel of him, now familiar, now a part of her. 

She closed her eyes to let him seep through her. _I love you..._

He leaned over and plunged deeper, sinking completely into her this time. His arms around her waist, he bent his head, burying his mouth in her chest, and she ran her fingers through his hair, every flick of his tongue jolting her out of her balance, every mark his teeth left on her, threatening to throw her off her precarious perch.

But he held her close, his grip firm and steady, showing her that he was, after all, strong enough for her. 

_I love you_ , she wanted to tell him, _I will always love you._

He began with a slow rotation of his hips, taking his time to touch, feel and kiss her, giving her time to get used to his girth, his tenderness a stark contrast to their furious fucking last night. He kept going, and she lifted to meet him, little sparks going off all over her body at the sensation. 

_You will always be a part of me,_ she wanted to shout, to let him know, but too overwhelmed for words, she let him sweep her off her feet, up… up… away from this reality into another where they could stay like this forever.

His thrusts gained a steady pace, and she brought her hand to his chest, caressing him, stroking his damp patch of hair, clamping her legs around his waist and driving him further into her until their sweat-slick bodies began sliding together.

She cried out loud when her release came, every vein, every nerve bearing only one sensation, her mind, her heart, her head, all chanting away in unison - _I love you._

She was rocked by his tremors inside her. She could sense his agony when he stepped up his tempo. She could feel his elation when he broke free of the shackles, his love when he shattered into pieces deep within her… filling her… finishing… _completing_ her.

“Yours,” he whispered, dragging his mouth up to hers. “ _Always_ yours.”

Draping her arms around his neck, she smiled lazily into his lips as she met his dreamy eyes. It wasn’t just _fucking_ after all. Or maybe, fucking was always an act of love.

She didn’t want to know. She didn’t care. All she cared for, was him. And that he loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Do share your comments and let me know if you liked it.


	8. Not interested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night Jaime rescues his wench from Harrenhal, he's unable to sleep. Neither is she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bed sharing, if anyone's interested :)

“Can’t sleep, Ser Jaime?”

With a long-drawn sigh, he turned to his side to face her. “Sleep has become my enemy since--” he glanced down wistfully at his missing hand.

“I--” Hesitant and tentative, she blinked furiously. “I’m sorry.”

Even in the dim light, Jaime could note the guilt in her beautiful eyes. “I think you can stop harping on that, wench.” It irked him when she apologized, whenever she decided to blame herself for his fate, making his actions come across as a bloody favour he’d done her, a mere manifestation of his chivalry and nothing more.

How was he to tell her there was far more to his deeds than what she perceived? 

She paid heed to his demand this time and shut up, but the haunted, deadened look she’d often worn since that dreadful night took residence, once more, in those blue eyes, and she took to examining the bedroll, depriving him of the privilege of seeking refuge in them whenever he found himself lacking the resolve to face his bleak future.

Like tonight. Like every sleepless night he’d spent. Like every night that would come, each one dark and depressing with no Brienne and the soothing warmth of her eyes to drive away his gloom.

When her eyes came up to meet his again, the trauma, the pain she’d gone through in Locke’s captivity came crying out to him, penetrating the depths of his heart. “I haven’t been able to sleep either, Ser Jaime.”

_I know, and I’m somehow responsible for what you’ve been through._

“I’m at fault,” he brought himself to say it at last, the thought incessantly nagging him, tormenting him since the second he’d walked out of her cell at Harrenhal. “I should’ve taken you with me.”

“You came back,” she said with a tender smile, and Jaime could almost instantly make out the transformation in her. She looked about five years younger, the girl--the woman hidden beneath her tough exterior showing her face, trying to break free.

“How could I not, my lady?”

So soft and gentle his tone was, that even he was surprised by the way he’d said it. Her cheeks suffused with colour, and her smile faded away when she drew her gaze off his. She shivered slightly, and Jaime couldn’t help feel the urge to draw her into his embrace, to hold her tight, to shower her with hot kisses. 

_How can I help what I feel? How can I keep denying that I want her?_

“Get inside the blanket,” he insisted, noticing that she was half-outside the only source of comfort they had. While they usually encountered warmer weather during the days, the nights were quite cold.

Lying at the edge of the bedding, with a shy blink, she replied, “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are!” he almost shouted. “Look at you! You’re shivering.” Did she not trust him? Did she not think him capable of little acts of kindness? 

“The cold isn’t bothering me.” Her shoulders twitched in another involuntary shudder, immediately calling out her lie. “I’m not that delicate.”

He was about to throw her a harsh retort, but took a moment to collect himself. Mellowing down, he said, “You’ll fall ill,” like he usually did with Tommen to cajole him when the child was being stubborn and unreasonable. When she still remained adamant and unshaken, he reiterated what he'd told her in the bath, “Don’t worry, I’m not interested,” hoping it didn’t sound made up and far from what he truly felt. 

She hugged herself, obviously bitten by the chill, and unable to stand her discomfort any longer, he budged closer. When she didn’t recoil or show any signs of aversion to his proximity, he took the liberty to pull the rug over them both, enclosing them in the snug shelter. “See,” he teased, his eyes flickering between her slender neck and the enticing curve of her breasts. “I’m not that bad.”

His mischievous remark put a smile to her lips and the warmth back into her eyes, and encouraged, he brought his hand to her neck, gently tracing the scars the bear had given her. “I shouldn’t have left you with Locke,” he whispered, still regretting his delay in rescuing her.

“I'm here with you,” she said, her tone soft and reassuring, “and that's what finally matters.”

He let his fingers wander, relishing the feel of her skin beneath his, enjoying the way she twitched at his touch. “Does it still hurt, my lady?”

She responded with a slow movement of her head, and something more in her eyes this time, something far deeper than respect or regard, something beyond even friendship. 

He wasn’t sure what she was trying to convey, but there was a way to find out--

Leaning over, he touched her lips with his, testing where he stood. When she made no move to put him off, he lingered on for a few precious seconds, hesitant to take a step further, yet reluctant to break contact. 

When he pulled back, he had her reaction. Eyes closed, her face was radiant with a glow and a pretty blush he could make out even in the pale light of the candle flame. He took her in; her slowly parting lips, her lashes fluttering open, uncovering the eyes which seemed to shout and scream what she wanted, her chest heaving under the duress of breathing which had suddenly turned into a laborious chore.

“Brienne,” he whispered, drinking in those eyes, drinking in every part of her, desiring both the warrior and the maiden in her. 

Her quivering chin, her trembling lips and the slight smile upon them, the bright red in her cheeks - this was all he wanted to see. 

And before this beautiful moment could slip away from their hands, he had her flat on her back, pinned to the bed with his body holding her in place. Never before had he seen any woman, but Cersei, in such close quarters. Every freckle, every blemish, the shape of her nose and the fullness of her lush lips - all of her seemed more attractive and far more desirable than earlier. While his eyes held hers, his fingers outlined her lips, feeling every cut and every rough patch before sliding down her blushing neck to meet the hollow of her throat.

When her arms went around him, he kissed her full on the mouth, abandoning all restraint, snapping off the last remaining threads of hesitation that kept him from going all the way. 

He dived into her like he wouldn’t wake up tomorrow, his tongue encroaching upon her mouth, seeking, demanding, devouring… He was breathless when her fingers gripped his hair, his heart going faster and faster, his veins throbbing, his head light and his senses restricted only to _her_ … 

This was nothing like he’d ever been through, something he would experience with no one but her. He was hard. For her. To be inside her. He wanted this night to never end. He wanted to be wrapped forever in the soft comfort of her body, to lose himself in the warm sweetness of her mouth and the moist depths of her core.

She gasped when he dragged his hand down her neck; she sighed when he strayed across her collarbone to feel her heartbeat, to let his wildly thumping heart become one with hers. She gripped his arms tightly when he reached further down to undo her laces, to free her from the constraints of the hideous dress, a helpless whimper escaping her when he kissed his way down her throat, his teeth tugging out of his way every bit of clothing that lay in his path.

He lifted his head to look into her eyes, to gaze into them until eternity, to seek her lips again and kiss her senseless. He wanted more of her, every bit of her. He wanted to make her his tonight. He wanted to be hers for the rest of their lives.

“Not interested, huh?” she teased, playfully combing her fingers through his hair.

The ache in his groin now unbearable, Jaime brought his lips to hers. “Not at all,” he replied, before seizing her mouth to show her how _disinterested_ he was. 


	9. Will you have me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Brienne walks off mid-way, Jaime decides to finish the conversation they had begun at the training yard.

“If you'll have me,” he added, hoping she would realize it was more than just his sword he was placing before her.

After a long, painful moment of silence, she said, “I’d better get back.”

So much more than that, he wanted to hear from her. So much, he wanted to tell her. But the abruptness of her reply, her dismissal of him, left him with no further words and just a short, polite bow. And by the time he raised his head, she was gone. All he was left with was his inability to express himself, an aching heart and a sudden emptiness, a lingering question that made him doubt if she really--

“Have you left your sarcasm down South, brother?”

Jaime turned to the annoying voice and the man it belonged to, bracing himself to face the intelligent green eyes and the interrogation that would soon follow.

Tyrion matched step with him. “You’re a different man these days,” he observed, peering into Jaime’s eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jaime answered, having no more than an elusive denial for his intrusive sibling, his eyes still on the path the wench had taken, his mind, unable to let go of her.

“Stop lying to me.” Tyrion’s voice was stern, his admonishment, reminding Jaime of their father. “I heard the whole conversation--”

“What?” Jaime cried, appalled that his brother could sneak upon him and invade his privacy. “You can’t just lurk behind people and listen to their conversations. It’s--it’s--”

“--only fair that you tell her why you came to Winterfell.” Tyrion gave him a good-natured smile. “In case you didn’t know, I heard your last exchange at King’s Landing, when she approached you to convince Cersei--”

“ _Tyrion!_ ” Jaime gulped in a lungful of air to calm down, then recalling Brienne’s lack of interest in sustaining the conversation with him, he said, “She’s a warrior, a soldier who’s--”

“--also a lady,” Tyrion reminded him, his eyes twinkling. “An eligible noblewoman you’ve come to admire, respect, adore and--” he paused a second before dramatically concluding “--love.”

“I don’t--”

“Shut the hell up and go after her,” Tyrion barked, his eyes flashing ominously. Then lowering his tone, he let slip, “The Great Hall.”

Jaime narrowed his brows questioningly.

“That’s where you’ll find her at this time,” his brother informed, the smile back on his lips. “Alone.”

“But I don’t intend to--” he began to object, but Tyrion waited to hear no more. 

By himself again, Jaime pondered his brother’s suggestion, wondered if he really should pursue her and tell her--

What would he tell her?

_I came to Winterfell, my lady, because I love you._

He kept playing the words in his head as he trudged through the snow, back indoors, back to where he could find her, back by her side. If only he could stay by her side forever… If only she would see beyond the knight in him… If only he could tell her how much he--

Holding his breath, he stepped in. There she was, sitting by the fire, her golden locks reflecting the glow of the flames. His sudden attention to her hair brought to his mind a conversation they’d had years back, when he’d mocked her - all of her, but her hair. Little did he know then that there would come a day when he would desire no more than to make her a Lannister, to be hers…

_If only she would have me…_

He tiptoed towards her, careful not to disturb her. He wanted to ambush her into a surprise conversation, to deny her a chance, this time, to shy away from his company. He was, however, barely a few feet away when she jumped to her feet, his attempt at stealth failing to deceive her impeccable warrior senses.

“Ser Jaime?”

She waited as he approached her, the polite, patient look in her eyes, inquiring the purpose of his visit.

“I--” he started, wanting to tell her everything his chest was bursting with, but his tongue turned to stone and his brain, a frozen lump of useless mass.

At least, she didn’t make an attempt to flee this time. Relieved, he decided to begin again from the beginning. “My lady, I--” Before he could finish, his mind wandered to the little talk they'd had at the training yard. “What makes you think I’m always out to insult you?” he demanded, the heart-to-heart conversation he’d been planning on his way in, taking a completely different direction, an entirely contrasting tone.

On an afterthought, he was taken aback by his words, but he had to know what lay deep inside her heart.

She assumed the guarded stance she usually took on in his presence. “Must I really remind you of your _kind_ words, Ser Jaime?”

“Pray, do,” he insisted, frustrated that she refused to see the change in him, his attitude towards her and his feelings for her, “because that, given the recent past, is an unfair accusation. When was the last I insulted you?”

“Stop pretending you don’t recollect,” she snapped, her voice breaking.

“I really don’t recollect.”

“Well,” she continued in the same agitated vein, voice loud and her eyes as bright as the flames that lit the place. “How about the time I met you in King’s Landing, when I requested your assistance to speak to the Queen?”

“I had to be harsh that day. I couldn't help it,” he confessed, the memory of Cersei's death stares sending a shiver down his spine.

“Why?”

Sensing it was time to steer the conversation back to the point he’d intended, Jaime took a step ahead. “Fuck loyalty,” he repeated her words, lowering his voice for just her ears.

Brienne opened her mouth to fling him a retort, but shut it as soon as she met his eyes. “What?” she asked, in the softest voice he’d heard.

“That’s what I did.” He moved closer, and thankfully, she didn’t retreat nor did she try to run away this time. “Because you told me to, wench.”

One blink. Then another, and the third one came, captivating him, arresting his attention, as always, to her pretty lashes and the astonishing eyes they enclosed. “You’re deviating from the argument,” she said, barely audible.

“But I'm not here to argue with you,” he softly countered.

“We were talking about you and your insults--”

She went quiet again when he took her hand, shivered slightly when he brought it to his lips. “I came to Winterfell--” he halted, tilting his face so close to hers that he could note every freckle, every hair on her furiously fluttering eyelashes. “I think you know why, my lady.”

“Ser Jaime--”

Before she could go on, his hand was on her cheek and his mouth on hers.

A sweet little touch of her lips with his - that was all it was, but never before had a kiss felt so innocent, yet intoxicating, so tender, yet passionate, so soft, yet concealing behind it, a strong aggression that was waiting to explode. Her hand came to rest on his chest, not in resistance, not to push him away, and he could feel her lips part gently under his, shy, trembling, tentative, yet unwilling to withdraw, wanting him, wanting to feel him, her wandering fingers caressing his chest, telling him more than words ever could.

When he pulled away, she was a sight to behold! Cheeks flushed, eyes bright and lips moist with his kiss, she looked like a freshly bloomed rose, more desirable than ever. “See,” he whispered, running his thumb along her lips, reluctant to part with her. “I don’t always insult you, Brienne. I have long lost the interest in it.”

Smiling, she stepped away from his touch. “I’d better get back.” 

Averting her eyes, she made to leave, when he pulled her into his arms. “Will you have me?” he asked again, searching the depths of her eyes for a reaction. “And this time I’m not leaving without an answer. Say yes, my lady.” Her face said it all, but he ached to hear it from her. “Say yes and--”

The door flung open and they jumped apart in alarm, ensuring a safe gap between them for the benefit of whoever had chosen this moment to intrude. 

“Lady Sansa requests your company, m’lady,” Podrick announced, glancing curiously at both of them with traces of a knowing smile playing the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll be right there,” Brienne said, then raced after Pod to the entrance.

Jaime followed, close on her heels, cursing another missed opportunity, when she paused by the door. 

Turning on her heel, she gifted him a soft, “ _Yes_ ,” her sweet, melodious voice, her shy smile and the radiance of her face, filling him with warmth and a new-found determination to survive this war and build a life for himself on the other side of it.

A life with the woman he loved.


	10. Have you ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening before the long night, Jaime stands on the Winterfell ramparts, watching the sunset. Brienne joins him.

There he was, leaning against the wall and staring into the distance. Brienne tiptoed across to join him in his pensive mood.

“Have you ever watched the sun go down wondering whether you’d see it again?” he mused, his eyes, his mind, miles away from her.

“At Harrenhal.” She drifted off to where her memories took her. “When we were prisoners. Every single day.”

He straightened, his stance no more a slouch. “Have you ever been on the verge of saying something--” he took a moment off his question “--pouring out your heart… only to be pulled back by doubts and inhibitions?”

“Twice.” Her chest tightened at another stream of memories washing over her mind. _Both times I bid you goodbye._

Tearing his thoughtful eyes off the sun, he turned to her. “Have you ever wished you could lie wrapped in the arms of the one you love?” He moved closer. “Away from everyone else with the world and your cares forgotten?”

 _Every day. For years. Without even knowing what it was that I felt for you._ But this time she didn’t answer, just blinked, trapped in his gaze, frozen in the moment.

“Have you ever--” 

His voice cracked and he couldn't go on, and what followed was so beautiful that it felt like a dream. Were his lips really on hers? Were the arms around her more than just her imagination? Was it his breath that warmed her and not the fire burning in her hearth? Was it truly _him_ and not just a vision her love-sick mind had conjured yet again?

When he gently broke away, she didn’t feel the need to pinch herself. “Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?” she whispered, so overwhelmed, that she couldn’t hold back her tears.

Jaime brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away years of yearning and pining and secretly wishing he were by her side. “I should’ve come after you at Riverrun, Brienne.”

She smiled through her tears. “As the wise ones say, better late than never.” And then, she leaned in to kiss him again.


	11. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mere minutes after Brienne rides away from the Red Keep with Pod, she has an unexpected visitor.
> 
> Set after their goodbye in 4x4

She drank deeply from her skin while waiting for Podrick.

Barely an hour after they had set out, he'd sheepishly requested her for a halt so he could relieve himself. So here she was, wrapped in the memories of her last meeting with Jaime, wondering if she’d ever see him again, when the sound of hooves behind her led her to put down her water and pull out her sword. A tall figure, cloaked in black, her new companion was, and she gripped her weapon tightly as he dismounted.

“Stay right there,” she warned, keen to avoid an altercation, yet ready, if the situation demanded it.

Her visitor held out a gloved hand. “Easy there, Brienne.”

Brienne’s world shook, her fingers trembling over the golden lion she held. The rich depth in his tone, the way he said her name… it couldn’t be him, but it had to be. How could he? Why would he?

Pulling off his hood, he approached her with an odd complaint. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

“What?”

Jaime stopped when he was about half a foot away from her. “You--” He gazed into her eyes - a look as deep and meaningful as he’d given her when she rode away, a look that left her knees weak and her heart fluttering wildly. “You just walked away from me.”

“You came all this way for a goodbye?” She couldn’t believe this. Instead of being with his sister, here he was, in the middle of nowhere, making small talk with her.

He nodded, drawing closer. “And more.”

“More?” Brevity was good, but not when it failed to convey the point, particularly when it came from a man like Jaime who was never this frugal with words. “What do you mean by--”

_Oh, dear gods!_

Brienne had never been silenced like this before. 

Who needed words when his kiss could bring forth the message - loud and clear and passionate? Not once graced with a man’s affections, she had no idea lips could do this too! That they could leave her reeling and gasping and panting for more, with _him_ , and nought but him, in every pore of her consciousness! His arms secured her to him, wrapping her in an embrace far more intimate than lovers would engage in on their wedding night, his touch, the firmness of his hard chest against hers, certain to leave her restless and sleepless for countless nights to come.

“When you have succeeded in your quest, my lady, I will come for you,” he whispered into her lips when he let her breathe.

“And I will wait for you,” she assured him, hope rising in her chest, when he reluctantly took leave of her again. “For _more_.”

And this time, it was his turn to turn around and look at her as he rode away, his smile, the love in his eyes telling her that _life_ was yet to come.

That there would be more.


	12. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they've made love, Brienne stands by the window, lost in her thoughts. Jaime decides to answer some questions.
> 
> 8x4 missing scene post TBTWP

Bathed in the moonlight, her skin shone like marble, so flawless and smooth that one could mistake her for a goddess; a goddess who had descended upon him last night.

Jaime left the bed to join her, his arms around her warm body, his erection, nestling against her ass, thick and hard and impatient to carry on from where they had left off and fallen asleep.

“You and me,” she whispered, soft and cautious and tentative. “What was it, Jaime? What _is_ it?”

He caressed and stroked her, along her flat stomach, up her ribs, every twitch, every shiver and every squirm, he was rewarded with, tormenting him with sensations he couldn’t describe. “Whatever you want it to be.”

When his fingers found her breast, she moaned a little, her voice, shaky, when she asked, “Will it happen again?”

He slid his stump down her front, between her legs, rubbing up and down her inner thigh. “Only if you want it to.”

A pinch to her nipple and a brush against her mound brought her arching back into his chest. “Will you--” she broke off, a squeak escaping her lips, desperate and helpless. “Will you stay back here?”

Her thighs closed around him, tighter, squeezing his stump when he pushed into her folds, soaking in her dampness, her arousal leaving him stiffer... harder... burning... needy. “Only if you want me to.”

She turned to face him. “Do you--” She paused, doubt, a little worry and so much more, clouding her pretty eyes.

“I do. I always will, no matter what,” he replied with urgency, before she could finish. “And this is beyond either of our choices. We don’t get to choose who we--”

Brienne threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her chest, pressing so tightly against him that he could feel her heart thundering away. “This.” She kissed him full on the mouth. “ _This_ is my choice. It was my choice last night. And it is now.”

He lifted her off the ground. Pinning her to the wall, he began plundering her with wild, hungry kisses.

“Let it happen again,” she panted, dragging her hands down his back and groping his ass while her legs hugged his hips. “Let it keep happening,” she gasped, her lips never leaving his for more than to breathe. “Every single day of my life.”

He thrust into her, his cock, hers again, hers _forever_ , to pleasure her, to make her feel like a woman. 

As for him, he wished to do a lot more than that. He wanted to give her all the love she deserved. And the life she’d been deprived of.

Falling in love with Brienne wasn’t by choice, but this, definitely, would be.


	13. Another journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Knighting Brienne, as the crowd thins out in the Great Hall, Jaime remembers something Catelyn Stark had once thrown at him as a taunt.

“You’re a far truer knight than I can ever be.”

Brienne halted by the door, and then turned to face him, her eyes, distant, her frown, thoughtful, her mind too, perhaps, traveling to the filthy cell from years ago.

Leaving the warmth of the fire, Jaime marched over to her. “Catelyn Stark was right about you.”

She giggled, filling him with warmth again - of a different kind, though - one that made his heart leap a little. “So it’s flattery now, is it?”

He advanced, the ale he’d consumed, emboldening him, her response, encouraging him and egging him on to tease her. “I’m glad you didn’t mistake it for mockery this time.”

“Not this time.” In her eyes, was a quiet belief that he could do her no wrong, and trust -- just like when she’d knelt in front of him. “You wouldn’t mock me.” He could see her chest rising when she added, “ _Never again_.”

His heartbeat picked up. “What makes you think so?”

Her conviction, just like the way she voiced her opinion, was clear. “I just _know_.”

His hopes rising, he took this chance to close the gap between them. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Smiling, she nodded. “Indeed.”

His mind drifted away to a different night, a different life, an entirely different him. “A memorable journey,” he reminisced. 

Before she could answer, he took her hand. Before she could voice any objection, he brought it to his lips. Before it was too late, before his courage could wane, he jumped into what he had to ask her next. “What would you say, my lady, to another journey with me?”

A sharp look, at first, his proposal evoked. And then her eyes softened in comprehension.

“No chains, this time, nor ropes to keep us apart,” he went on, caressing her palm. “Not enemies this time, but--”

He faltered when she tore away her gaze. Did he make a huge mistake? Did he misinterpret her respect and regard for something more? But he couldn’t be wrong. Not after the way she’d looked at him with half a dozen people as witnesses. Not after the heartfelt smile she’d worn - for him, just for him. 

“Brienne?”

Her eyes returned to his, in them, a sheet of unshed tears, her lips pressed together in a thin line. 

_Gods, have I inadvertently hurt her? Again?_ “Why this hesitation, my lady?”

“I was lost in a prayer.” She sounded odd and hoarse, tense and strained. “I begged the Stranger to keep away from us, for tonight, for many nights, for as long as it takes to walk this road with you. I--” 

She broke away. She broke down.

And he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. 

He wanted his lips to be a comforting reassurance for her apprehension. He wanted his arms to be the blanket that would keep her warm. He wanted his mind to be one with hers, to tell her that, together, they would keep the Stranger at bay. He wanted to be the love she'd never enjoyed, the companion she'd never had.

When she relaxed in his arms, he whispered, “I’m sure the gods won’t turn down a pure soul like you, Brienne. No one’s that heartless.”

A smile and a blush, it earned him, and that was enough. That would be good to keep him going, to see the light of the day. With the new dawn would begin another journey, his destination, the woman in his arms.

For now. Forever.


	14. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the trial, Jaime chases Brienne down to have a talk with her.

“Brienne, wait.”

Countless nights, she had dreamed of him. Countless days, she’d subconsciously glanced at the gates, searching, hoping, wishing he would come riding through.

But now, when he was here in flesh and blood, she didn't know what to say, how to react.

Little did she know that his actual presence would leave her tongue tied and confused. And rooted to the spot when he had managed to tail her along a deserted passage. For a good lot of seconds they stood there, looking everywhere, but at each other.

“So you did talk to the queen,” she began for want of something to say, reminded of their last meeting.

Her words seemed to work like magic, thawing the ice, taking the stress of his strained features. “At her,” he quipped, the twinkle in his eyes bringing back the man she’d known. “Until she kicked me out.”

She laughed when the scene unfolded in her head, but when he made a sudden movement towards her, she withdrew into another shell of silence, keeping away from the eyes that threatened to break down every bit of resolve in her.

“Fuck loyalty.” His breath set her skin on fire. His words evicted her mind of everything else. His closeness, though he wasn’t even touching her, sparked a pleasant ache in the pit of her belly. “I did what you told me to, wench.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “And here I am.”

Her heart was stuck somewhere at her throat. “Why?”

When his fingers met her face, she had to keep herself from trembling. When he lifted her chin to meet her eyes, she found all her answers in his. 

And when his lips met hers, it was bliss. 

He was smiling when he let go of her, a radiance lighting up his face like never before, not even when he was with his sister. “Do you still want to know why, Brienne?”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him, wanting more of this magical moment, hoping her fate would be kind enough to let her have this. 

When she kissed him this time, she wanted to live the rest of her life on his lips. She wanted to die in his arms. She wanted to shout out to the gods and thank them for this priceless gift.

It felt like her existence now had another new side to it. A side she couldn’t wait to explore.


	15. Another long night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the drinking game, Tyrion makes Jaime his target instead of Brienne

“You danced with Renly Baratheon.”

Surprised, Brienne turned to Pod with an unspoken accusation, but the lad only shrugged, his smile, mirroring Jaime’s. 

Accepting defeat, she brought her goblet to her lips, when Tyrion went this time. “And you, dear brother, are wishing right now that it was _you_ instead of Renly.”

Well, that came out of nowhere! 

Unsure of what to say or even where to look, she set down her glass and chose to scrutinise its contents. This was safe. This way she wouldn’t bear witness to Jaime’s embarrassment.

“Ever since you left Cersei -- no, even before that, perhaps, you’ve been thinking about Lady Brienne in ways only a--” Tyrion cleared his throat. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Under the table, Brienne balled her fingers into a fist. _Don’t look up. Don’t look at him. This will soon pass._

“You, Jaime, are jealous of Tormund Giantsbane.” 

Tyrion Lannister had decided to be ruthless tonight, and this time, Brienne had to grip her cup to keep her heart from thundering. 

“And you will be of _anyone_ who chooses to court her, because you’re--”

When Tyrion abruptly stopped, she couldn’t resist looking up to find out the reason for the pause. Jaime was on his feet. While she couldn’t correctly read his expression, common sense told her he’d tell his brother off, announce that all this was a big fat lie and storm away.

Her heart sinking, she was in half a mind to get away from there and hide herself in her room and never see these people again, when he reached around the table to approach her instead of leaving.

“My lady.” He blocked her path, before she could flee. “My brother _thinks_ he knows people, _assumes_ he can guess things about others.”

There it came. And it didn’t sound good. 

So struck with disappointment, she was, that she found it a task to breathe. Her heart dropping to its lowest, she made to get up, but he restrained her with a tight grip on her shoulder.

“Although, I must admit, he can be right, at times, Brienne.” 

There was a certain softness to his eyes when he said this. She held her breath. She could hope, but not too much. Life had taught her to lower her expectations to the barest minimum when it came to men.

“Like now,” Jaime went on, his lips shaping into a smile she could die for. “Like whatever he just said about--” 

He held out his hand to her.

To her questioning look, he replied, “For a walk, perhaps. Away from these--” He turned to Pod and his brother who were grinning from ear to ear. Bending, he brought his face to hers. “I have a few things to say to you. A few questions, your answers to which, I’m hoping, would tilt in my favour and not _Tormund’s_.”

She took his hand. “Tormund was never a threat, Ser Jaime. Nor is anyone else.”

When they left the table, together, yet a respectable distance apart, she was blushing hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice. When they were safely out of Tyrion’s sight, his fingers brushed against hers, sending goosebumps down her spine. When they were farther away from the crowd, he held her hand, leaving her mind buzzing with a thousand different emotions. 

And when they picked up pace, when he pulled her into a dark passage and into his arms for a kiss, her body, her entire being was left reeling under the impact of a thousand tiny explosions.

When she led him to her chambers, Brienne knew this would be another long night. One unlike the last they’d been through. One she would forever remember for reasons very different from the first.


	16. His dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different continuation of the - "You want me to insult you?" exchange at the Winterfell training yard.

“You want me to insult you?”

Livid, she barked, “No!”

“Good!”

For a few tense seconds they looked away from each other.

And then Jaime calmed down. There had to be a better way to talk to her, to make it known. After a bit of quick thinking, he offered her his arm. “Walk with me?” He had to get her away from the crowd, someplace where he could talk to her in peace.

Half-expecting to be slapped with a refusal, he was pleasantly surprised when Brienne accepted his invitation. And away from the prying eyes, he led her, until they were indoors and deep into a rarely-used passage.

She began to grow impatient. “Why have you brought me here, Ser Jaime?”

All his journey he had been planning this out, working out how to tell her, but now that the moment had actually come, his tongue felt like stone. “What do you propose to do after the war?” he managed, nevertheless. 

She gave him the usual, “I’m going to stay here with Lady Sansa, to protect and--”

“Have you no life of your own, wench?” That had come out harsher than necessary, but he was starting to grow wary of her selflessness.

“ _This_ is my life,” she firmly stated, raising her voice to battle his. “What else can it be?” 

“What about marriage?” he strongly suggested. “A loving husband wouldn’t hurt, and half-a-dozen children--”

She stopped, turning to him with a scathing, “Don’t mock me please! Not like this--”

“I’m not.” His nerves, unfortunately, weren’t permitting him to speak blunt and straight, and he wanted to hit himself on the head for that. Adopting a much softer tone, he took to gentle prompting again. “Don’t you wish for all that, my lady?”

She disregarded his question with a look of incredulity. “What is the point of wishing for something I can never have?”

“What if I told you that you could have all of that and more?”

She rolled her eyes, still probably thinking he was joking. “Really? A loving husband?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

The wench looked more skeptical than before. “Is it? Who would have me?”

“ _Anyone_ you want,” he hinted, hoping to gauge her true feelings for him. “The one you love.”

“I--” Her face went from disbelief to distress. “That’s impossible. He loves--”

“-- _you_.” Out it came, at last, relieving him of his torment. “And I’m sure he’d try his best to be a loving husband, Brienne.” Her pink cheeks drew him to her, closer, until the gap of just a hand parted them. “If you’ll have him.”

Smiling just like she had when she’d been watching Pod train, she shyly pointed out, “It would be quite a task to bring up that many children.”

“I could help,” he offered, bathing in the brilliance of her beautiful eyes. “I’ve fathered children, but could never be a father. This time--”

“You’ll be a wonderful father,” she gushed. “To our--” she paused, blushing deeply “--six children, is it?”

“More, if you want,” he teased, wrapping his stump around her waist. “but for that, we’ll need to find a Sept first, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “We have a Godswood here in Winterfell. That’ll do just fine.”

Every night of his ride North, Jaime had dreamed of wedding her, and every day, he'd spent planning it. But it could wait just a little longer.

Until he’d found out what her lips felt like against his.


	17. What do I call you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One morning, during Jaime's stay at Winterfell, they celebrate Brienne's name-day.

Green eyes, brightened by a warm smile and all the affection they could hold, gazed into hers when she woke that morning.

“You never told me today’s your name day,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “May you live to celebrate many more, my sweetling.”

“Don’t call me--”

Brienne’s complaint was lost in his mouth, and she let go of everything else, closing her eyes and melting into him. Never before had her name day been brought in like this. Never before had she been blessed with such bliss.

“-- _sweetling_ ,” she finished, when she could manage to speak again. “Don’t call me that again!”

His eyes were brimming with mock-innocence, teasing her. “What do I call you then, my lady?”

“Well...” She let her fingertip follow the trail of hair down his chest and stomach. “Brienne should be fine.”

Jaime thoughtfully shook his head. “Not quite enough.”

“Not _wench_ , either,” she objected before he could say anything, knowing full well what would come next.

“How about _wife_?” This time his eyes had not the usual mischief. Just pure, unblemished love.

And she was lost for words. “Jaime--”

“It is your name day, Brienne, but I have this to ask of you.” He pulled her closer. “A gift you can grace me with, a promise to spend every name-day with me, bound to me till the end of our days.”

As if she would ever turn him down. “Only if you swear never to call me sweetling again.” 

“I could try, but no promises,” he said, his face radiant with happiness.

And no more was to be said.

When he started kissing her again, it was the sweetest they’d indulged in. 

When he made love to her, it was slow and tender, yet blisteringly passionate, a rhythm she’d never want to stop humming, a dance she’d want to keep going on and on with.

 _This_ , Brienne realized, was life, when he brought her desires, her sensations to a peak she’d gladly jump from, for she would land no place but back into his arms again.

Arms, she would never want to forgo the shelter of.


	18. Life isn't over yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jaime leaves Brienne crying in the middle of the night, she begins to pick up the pieces. Not many days after that fateful farewell, Pod comes in to comfort her one day. And what follows is a pleasant coincidence.

“You love him.”

The words shook her out of her lapse in focus, drawing her attention to her squire who was watching her intently, his eyes, understanding and sympathetic. It was a declaration, not a question. His assessment of her heart.

Pushing away her dullness that had now become the order of the day, Brienne replied with an elusive, “We should get back to work. Lady Sansa’s probably been waiting for us--”

“I’m worried about you, ser,” Podrick said, jumping to the distressing subject again. “Since the day he left, you haven’t been yourself.” He got up with a sigh. “It’s like something inside you died, the spark gone.”

“Life is not just _him_ , Pod,” she said, convincing herself more than him. “Such things happen. The best I can do is to get over it and keep going on.”

All he had was sombre nod and a heartfelt, “I wish he’d return.”

And if only there was anything she could do to make it happen. “So do I.”

Pod continued to look worried and distressed. “Will you be alright, m'lady?” 

Brienne forced herself to reassure the boy with a smile, concealing her tears beneath a mask she’d never, henceforth, uncover. “Cheer up, Pod. Life isn’t over yet. Now go on and tell Sansa I’ll be with her in awhile.”

She sat there for long after he had left, staring at the floor, consumed by the now-familiar emptiness again. It was like the gods had showered her with sunshine for a few blissful days, only to cruelly eclipse it away and banish her to a dungeon of darkness.

_Yes, I do love him..._

She recalled the tears in her eyes when he had tipped her shoulders with his sword, reciting the words that granted her the most beautiful gift ever.

_And I know he loves me too…_

The jealousy in his voice that night, the fire and passion in his eyes, the way his fingers and mouth had travelled and caressed her body, every sweet unspoken word, every touch that screamed of what he felt for her - all these were just a memory now, to be locked deep in her heart until the last puff of air left her lungs. Were memories good enough for her? She didn’t know, but she had to go on. Such was life. Hers, in particular.

“Wench.”

She went very still, not daring to look up. That crisp, yet enticing voice, the little drop of fondness in the way he called her that... was it really..?

But no, it couldn’t be.

“Brienne, look at me.”

Or, could it really be?

She slowly looked to the door, hoping her mind wasn’t playing the same old horrible tricks on her again. But there he was, looking exactly the way he did the night he had left her. In flesh and blood.

 _Her_ Jaime.

He was real, as were the unspoken emotions in his eyes.

She got to her feet when he limped across the room to her bed. “You’re hurt,” she said, glancing down at his knee.

There was his familiar smile again, one that never failed to evoke a pleasant ache in the pit of her belly. “My horse’s doing. Not long after I left you, it decided to give me a taste of its disapproval.”

Wanting to knock him down with a well-aimed blow and kiss him senseless at the same time, she nodded vigorously. “I completely agree with your mount. I, in its place, would’ve done the same. You deserve it.”

“I have no arguments against it.” He stumbled closer to take her hand. “What can I do to make amends, my lady? Anything you want. Everything. Just say it.”

“Marry me,” she said, without thinking. Not that it needed any thinking, though.

His hand glided up her arm, along her neck to stroke her cheek. “Because you love me?”

Grabbing fistfuls of his leathers, she pulled him to her. “Because you need someone to knock some sense into your head if you ever decide to wander off to die again.” The mask now off, tears began to roll down her cheeks. “If you dare do something like that, Jaime, I’m going to hunt you down and drag you back here myself.”

Wiping away her tears, he let his comforting breath wash over her, his teasing smile, slowly easing her into normalcy. “I’ll keep that in mind. I would certainly think twice before antagonising you, Ser Brienne.”

For a quiet little moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes, drinking in one another, letting the union sink in, exchanging silent promises that this time, it was for life.

“You love me, Brienne.” 

He kissed her, his lips, a warm fire to melt down the icy chill he’d left her with, a balm to soothe her broken heart, an apology, a vow that he would never abandon her again.

“And I can't live without you.”

He pressed another kiss to her lips, a little deeper, this time, a pleasant reminder of the wonderful nights they had spent wrapped around in each other.

“I should have told you this on our first night together. But like my horse very correctly pointed out, it isn't too late yet.”

His mouth sought hers again, with passion and hunger, with affection she had never known before, wiping her mind off all the agony and flooding her heart, once again, with bright and sunny dreams again.

And like the countless times before, she surrendered, letting him sweep her off her feet.

Life wasn’t over yet... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The horse throwing him off was something I picked up from one of the interviews (I think, if I remember correctly) where during a take, poor Nik was pushed away by the beast :)


	19. Die another day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little heart-to-heart exchange soon after the knighting ceremony when they're the only ones left by the fire.

“Never thought I’d live to see this day,” she said, her eyes shining like priceless gems.

If Jaime had his way, if circumstances weren’t this grim, he would gladly sit here forever, gazing at her, dazzled by her radiance. The dead be damned! Never before had she looked so beautiful, so happy and utterly content and at peace with the world.

Leaving her warm seat by the fire, she approached him. “Ser Jaime--”

He rose to match her height. “You don’t have to thank me, wench.”

Her guard down, thanks to the wine, she smiled, open and heartfelt. “If I die tonight, I’d die a happy woman.”

This ominous thought brought him back to the darkness at their threshold, the heavy possibility of one of them meeting their end mere hours from now leaving him with a gaping hole in his heart; one which could be filled with warmth and so much more if he mustered the courage to tell her.

With no more to say, Brienne started to walk away, bidding him goodnight as she left. “We ought to go get some sleep. I’ll see you again when the horn--”

“I cannot die a happy man,” he blurted, all the pain, the longing and everything else he felt for her, seeping out in that one desperate confession.

A brief pause by the door. Then she slowly retraced her steps to him. “You came here following your heart, Ser Jaime. If you die, it’ll be for the right cause. Why would you not be happy?”

“Love.” 

The word was meant for her. It meant her. She was the heart and soul of it. His very essence. He had finally recognized and acknowledged the tears his heart had shed all along, and late though, it might now be, he still had this moment. He didn’t know if he would live to see another dawn. And even if he did, who was to give him the assurance that he’d be fortunate enough to have her by his side?

Confusion skimmed over those pretty blue eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“If I die without knowing whether the woman in my heart loves me or not, such death would bring me nothing but despair, Brienne.”

Her bewilderment gave way to compassion, sympathy and something more… pain and yearning, perhaps, joined by traces of misunderstanding, still, a bothersome shadow diminishing the brightness of those sapphires. “I’m sorry you had to go through such a heartbreak, Ser Jaime. You love her beyond anything else, and she--”

“Does she?”

Taken aback by his question, she lost focus of her words for a moment before recovering enough to manage an uncertain, “I don’t know--”

“Oh, you do know, my lady. Who else would, if not _you_?” Knowing it was now or never, he took her hand, aching to show her it wasn’t Cersei he meant. “Does she love me too?”

She smiled, careful and guarded, the radiance returning to her face. The sun had risen in the dead of the night, driving away the darkness in his life, showing him that life beyond this night was something he could look forward to.

“Tell me, Brienne,” he asked her directly this time. “Do not keep me in the dark. Let me die a happy man.”

Her lips on his, eyes, sparkling and full of love, were more than he could bargain for, far more intense and deeper than words could ever express. He was soaring up the skies, beyond the clouds, the sensation filling him with profound feelings of elation he’d never experienced before.

“I’d rather you die another day, Ser Jaime,” she whispered, shyly draping her arms around his neck. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Perhaps when you’re old and wizened--”

“With you beside me, my lady,” he supplied, finishing the pretty picture she had started to paint. “Every single minute from this moment on.” 

Jaime leaned in to kiss her like he’d been dreaming for days. To drown in those deep blue eyes night after night was his desperate wish; to be buried in the comforting soft warmth of her skin on his; to melt away slowly in the smouldering fire of those lips.

Only to wake up the next morning, a man, reborn. 

Only to die again the night after that in exactly the same sweet way. 

  
  



	20. The right woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fireplace conversation takes a different turn as soon as Brienne joins Jaime and Tyrion. Starts from when he pulls up a chair and invites her to join them for a drink.

Brienne thought for a second, then shyly accepted his invitation. “Alright, just a bit.”

“We were just talking about you, my lady,” Tyrion started with enthusiasm as soon as she’d taken the chair Jaime had pulled out for her. “Jaime happened to tell me--”

“Nothing important,” Jaime hurriedly stopped him, his ears growing warm when he recalled their conversation before her arrival.

“Oh, it _is_ ,” his brother refuted, completely disregarding his subtle objection. “Remind me, Jaime, why did you lie about Tarth to Locke?”

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Jaime mumbled, hoping his brother would shut the hell up and not blow this out of proportions.

“And why did you jump into the bear pit?”

The heat began to spread to his face, down his neck, across his chest. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Brienne shift uncomfortably, but Tyrion seemed to be determined not to show them any mercy. “Why did you give her the sword, the horse and--” he tossed her a sly glance “--the armour she, so proudly, dons today?”

“Because,” Jaime said, aiming to tackle it in the same vein as earlier, “it was the right thing to do.”

He could swear there was a mild hint of impatience in Tyrion’s eyes when he hit him with the next. “Why did you, despite turning Lady Brienne down at the dragonpit, eventually do as she requested?”

“Because--”

“--it was the right thing to do?” Tyrion answered his own question, then left his chair to approach Brienne. “My lady, pardon my brother for he lies in your presence--”

“I’m not lying--”

“Well, not entirely,” Tyrion amended his accusation with a smile. “He also happened to confess just before you graced us with your company that--” he looked from Jaime to her, then at him again “--he did it all for _you_.”

Jaime’s apprehension began to surface in the form of a wildly pounding heart. “Tyrion!”

“Ask him yourself, my lady. But mind you, it took me quite a bit of coaxing and all the smartness I was born with to trick him into this confession.” Before either of them could answer, he walked across to her squire. “Why don't you join me for a walk, Podrick? I need to have a word with you.”

As soon as the men shut the door behind them, Brienne shot to her feet, ready to bolt out of there. “I must leave too.”

Jaime was quick to block her way before she could escape. “Don’t you want to know why I did all that, Brienne?” His brother was nosy and infuriating, but this time he’d done the right thing. 

When she met his eyes, they shone brighter than the brightest jewels he’d seen. “Because it was the right thing to do?” she suggested, ladylike and cautious.

But her blush, the glow on her face, her coy smile told him she knew. She had known the day she’d stepped into his tent at Riverrun. The fire had been burning inside her too, deep and intense and aching to be satisfied. She’d been yearning for him, wishing all along, despite their unfortunate circumstances, that they would, one day, meet again.

 _To fight for the same side..._ _To give themselves to a cause they’d proudly die for..._ _To do their best for life..._

Jaime took her hand in his. “I'm glad Tyrion exposed me in your presence.” The slight twitch of her fingers told him their needs converged. She wanted the same things he did.

 _To be here, in this moment. Him for her. Her for him..._ _To hold hands until death separated them..._ _To love one another, so deeply, so desperately, that there would be no room for anything else in their hearts..._

“Sometimes it takes the right woman to show a man the way,” he whispered, the flat of his thumb caressing her hand. “To nudge him towards the right thing.”

“I don’t understand, Ser Jaime,” she playfully feigned ignorance. “Is this your way of saying that you--”

“I _do_ , Brienne,” he admitted, kissing her knuckles. “And I’m more than sure that you _do_ understand exactly what I mean.”

Her eyes bore her answer. And so did her lips when he captured her mouth. He wanted to hold her like this all night, to feel her skin against his, to touch her, to taste her, to stay in her arms, until death dragged him away.

But if destiny was kind to them, there would be more than just this sweet moment to their union. 

There would be a life.


	21. Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei confronts Brienne and Jaime soon after they return to King's Landing

Cersei’s cold eyes were fixed on Brienne. “There are stories about how my brother lost his hand because of you.”

While the wench held his sister’s glare, outwardly unfazed, inside, Jaime knew she was being churned by a storm she would never bring before the world. Except, perhaps, the little quiver of her chin which didn’t escape his sharp eyes. Or the tense straightening of her back - just a little, minor enough to be missed by one who had not the interest in her.

When she didn’t answer, his sweet sister advanced a step, not just towards Brienne, but also in the verbal onslaught she had decided to inflict upon the poor woman who held no fault in his fate. “I’ve also heard how he refused to leave you to die.” Cersei looked her up and down, contempt and disapproval, the only emotions her eyes could spare along with the tinge of envy he could see slowly rising. “That he jumped in front of a beast to save your wretched life.”

Fist clenched into a ball, Jaime, who was, until now, watching from a distance, strode towards the wench, anxious to protect her, keen to answer her interrogator on her behalf. But before he could make his objection heard, Cersei directed her ire at him. “What do you have to say about these stories, Jaime?” Gone was the ice in her eyes, a blazing fire taking its place. “Many such tales have been floating around, the most awful of them claiming you did all that because you’re in love with her.”

It hit him hard, but it hit him in the right place. And he glanced at Brienne out of the corner of his eye, only to see her wipe her palm on her breeches, her cheeks blossoming into adorable patches of pink at the accusation. 

“Do you believe in these rumours, your grace?” he asked, answering her question with one of his.

His twin scoffed, her pretty face taking on a crooked half-smile. “Definitely not,” she tried to dismiss, eyes, now smug with denial. “Rumours are stories that make no sense--”

“Maybe you ought to believe such things sometimes.” Jaime reached out to take Brienne’s hand, now fully, openly turning to meet her astonishing eyes. “Because every word of what you’ve heard is absolutely and unquestionably true, Cersei.” Eager to begin a journey in the arms of the woman he loved, he let his fingers mingle with hers. “And it makes perfect sense to me.”


End file.
